Fade From Color
by CaliforniaDreamer
Summary: Literati, one shot. Post LWF,TWT. Rory thinks of the possibilties, she thinks of the realities. There's a choice that has to be made, even if it kills them both a little.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls, that would be Amy Sherman Palladino. I'm simply borrowing the characters and manipulating them in my own ways. Heh.**

**AN: Another one shot. Set after LWF,TWT. Because we all need a little closure.**

**Dedication: We'll give this one to Sarah, cause she's awesome, and she likes one parters. Heh. **

For a small moment, she can see it, the short flashes of maybes in bright neon colors, blinding her. She's sure she doesn't want to see it, but for a fleeting second, she thinks that maybe there's a tiny (miniscule, really) part of her that wonders what it could have been like.

She sees herself lying with him, her hair splayed across his bare chest. She takes a deep breath as he traces his fingers across her body, fingers trailing gently from her down to her stomach, and it's practically making her tremble.

She can see sweet kisses, laced with want (and love?), starting out slowly, but gaining passion as they go along. He cups her face with his hands, and she's tugging at his shirt, so ungracefully, but he doesn't care, and she sure as hell doesn't. He presses her closer, and she breathes him in hungrily, aching for his taste.

She sees a tiny apartment in New York, a shoe box really, but they manage. She tries to cook, and he mocks her attempt, suppressing a smirk as she fakes tears of frustration at her burnt efforts. Then he gently guides her hands as he takes over, and help her stir the sauce. She laughs easily, thinking that she could get used to this.

She sees nights of falling asleep exhausted on the couch, and he's holding her, arms wrapped loosely around her waist and head leaning against her shoulder. She smiles faintly and runs her fingers through the gel heavy entanglements of his hair.

But those moments were but flashes of a reality that could have been, the very reality she had dashed away just moments before. In all actuality, she (the fabled princess) was sitting with her face in hands, tears wetting the skin, sitting upon her cardboard box throne, which was beginning to bend and buckle under her weight. She got up hastily, wiping her hands across her cheeks, and digging frantically for her compact mirror in her purse. Striking gold, she pulled it out, beginning to stare at her reflection.

_Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?_

She looked terrible, she thought to herself. Her face was tearstained, and her eyes looked worn. She looked tired and defeated, but most of all, she looked disgusted with herself. She didn't even know this Rory anymore. (For example, when did she even buy a compact? Didn't it used to be 'zip, bam, boom, out the door'?)

She had told him she wasn't going to pine, and she gave it a damn good try, even if it did feel like she was constantly putting on an act. But here she was, borderline pining, so close to wanting and needing.

She didn't even have a right to pine, or want, or need. She closed the door and hurtled herself into this reality, this now and forever. He was gone, and she was okay with that, she wanted that.

She stared at the doorway, shivering at the image of him shrinking out of the doorway, hurt and disappointed, but he was dealing with it, and he'd be fine. Classic Jess, he didn't show emotions, and he didn't care about anything.

She could see them arguing, yelling and screaming at the top of their lungs, storming off and refusing to speak to each other. She'd call him a stubborn bastard, and he'd say she was an annoying pain in the ass. They'd play a horrid game of avoidance, but they'd play it well.

She can see herself in tears, but it would be a quiet breakdown, because she'd be damned if he saw her crying over him. He would mutter something about going for a walk before slamming the door. There was no telling if he'd come back, because he's Jess and that's what he does, and she's too proud to call him back.

She can see them bitter and hating each other for all the things they could have had while they wasted their time on each other.

But then she thinks some more, and she thinks she can see the intoxicating way they had of making up. The kisses that left her dizzy and gasping, confused as hell, but she was happy. She could see the playful sincerity in his eyes, and the genuine joy playing the corners of her lips.

Her head is spinning now, and she doesn't know what to think. She thinks that maybe this is what was going through his head; this is what could possibly propel him to make such an irrational proposition. The bright and vivid scenes, whirling through her mind making her second guess, wishing she had made a pro/con list, that's what happened to him, and that's what was happening to her. It scared the hell out of her.

She walked out of her dorm room in almost a trance, and somehow ended up at the parking lot, stopping abruptly. She wasn't sure if he was really there, but decided he was when she could smell the smoke from his cigarette.

He was really there, rugged and beautiful, leaning against his car. He looked like a shell of himself, hopeless and detached. She thinks that she can't breathe anymore, seeing him like this, and knowing she did it. She feels horribly powerful in this moment.

She thinks about walking forward, but then he looks up and she doesn't have to. He locks eyes with her, and she trembles a bit, but she doesn't break eye contact. She thinks that maybe she should say something, say that she's sorry, say that she loves him, but her throat is dry, and her lips are chapped, and she can't quite get it out. She's not sure what she'd be sorry for, and love is a scary uncertainty. (She hates that he's braver than her in that respect, but she thinks that she can live with that.)

She takes a shaky step forward, and soon enough she's standing directly in front of him. She wants to jump into his car, and tell him she was mistaken before, but she's still got some sense of rationality in her, and she knows she can't do that.

So instead, she wraps her arms around him and buries her face in his neck. He's warm, and she finds it hard to believe it's been so long since she's touched him. He still feels familiar.

He wraps a tentative arm around her in reciprocation, and gently presses her closer. He breathes in slowly, and she can feel the rise and fall of his chest. She thinks that maybe time has stopped, but that's too cheesy and romantic, and she likes to think they are neither of those.

She pulls away, taking a step back, and he lets her go. She meets his eyes, and she thinks she sees understanding in them.

"Goodbye, Jess," she manages to get out, and it hurts, but it feels like a weight has been lifted.

"Goodbye, Rory," he says, his voice steady, but she likes to think that it killed him a little, like it did for her.

He gives her a nod before getting in his car and driving away. It leaves a heavy cloud of smoke, and she stands and stares at it until the smoke completely dissipates.

She's speeding back and falling hard on to the concept of this present, the most real of all realities. The could-have-beens drove off with him, and she's left in this world of gray, where there is no RoryandJess.

She thinks that she'll be okay, though. That world is closed off, and now she knows it. He's gone, and it hurts, but he's been gone a long time now. She's numb, but she's waking up.

She thinks that he'll be okay too.

She's not quite happy, but this will do.

END.


End file.
